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rosipheleeTitle: Return
Words: 1502
Mini-Challenge Prompt: absent friends
Notes: Wow. I have no idea where this came from. I've been working on something similar for the last couple of days, and this suddenly grabbed me at lunch time. Until then, I thought the costumed League had ceased to exist in the 31st century. Looks like I was wrong.
Summary: Life's about to change in Snakepit City.
Terran Date 22.05.12501AD, Space Station 55-Pitcairn-12, orbiting 61 Cygni A
The mask felt heavy in her hands. She didn’t remember it being this solid.
The only light in the room came through the thin blind, from the red beacon lights in the city core. It stained the mask, making it seem brown, the stripes black.
She needed to change the colours. Grey and rust were for another city, another age.
It only took a thought. The grey darkened to match the steel walls outside, and the red became black, shadow-dark.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in, tightening her cheeks, and lifted the mask. She felt the edge nudge her brow, and smoothed it into place, adjusting it with unsteady hands. When it was in place, she stroked a fingertip across the brow, and felt it seal to her skin.
The ties hung loose, tapping her cheeks.
She gathered her hair into her hands, twisting it up, and holding it with one hand, pulling the ties back with another. She’d always insisted on the extra measure. She had argued, several times, for glue as well, but the practical problems had ruled it out.
When she twisted the ties around each other, they tightened, and then sealed into a knot, unbreakable until she chose to press it the right way, with her bare fingers.
She’d caught a few strands of hair in the ties. Practice would improve on that.
She opened her eyes, and let her hair fall. It settled against her back, held away from her face by the curve of the mask, and she shivered, as if it had brushed away centuries.
The costume was already wrapped around her. It felt lighter than it had done, and it was far, far stronger. The armour of yesteryear had become cloth, many times stronger. The boots were lighter too, though there were new gadgets sewn into their heels – generators to hold her against a wall, or lift her over an obstacle with the press of her toes.
She picked her gloves up from the narrow bed, and drew them on carefully. The palms were rough, to give her extra grip, but the fabric elsewhere was sheer, shimmering with thousands of tiny sensors and processors.
The room belonged to her, though not under the name she used here, or any other previous pseudonym. She had siphoned enough League funds through numbered and hex-coded accounts that only a genius could tell who drew upon the money.
She had also put in place plans to recruit any geniuses who emerged in this city.
It was a small room, even for a station-city, and it smelt of rat and roach and damp, all those things that weren’t supposed to have followed humanity into space. The constant racket of the grav shafts around the core made it cheap, and would have made it unbearable as a permanent residence.
It was perfect for an initial base.
She had lived in SS55-Pitcairn-12 for six years now, gradually setting this up, establishing a blameless life, and a network of contacts in the shadow-passages of the space station the residents called Snakepit City. On the other side of the city, above the starboard terminus, a young woman called Shera Blake lived. She was a graduate of Madelin Alberta University’s engineering program, and made a living as a freelance gravtech. Willingness to work during all of the station’s shifts kept her above the poverty line, and explained the strange hours she sometimes kept.
It had taken her years to get used to the completely new name.
The gloves were heavier than they had been. Mag generators in bands around the wrists produced long pulses that, like an invisible version of the ropes of old, let her swing between walls.
She had a rope on her belt, too, for paranoia’s sake. She’d watched too many of her people fall, the last time they’d played this hand.
A passenger car rattled up the outside of the wall, over her window. She pressed back against the wall, and counted the coaches passing. There were three due in the next few minutes, and then none for an hour.
Waiting, as the light flickered with the passing of the car, she saw her reflection in the peeling mirror opposite, flashing in and out of darkness.
While the League had patrolled the stars, and the halls of government, the Dark had, slowly and subtly, taken the station cities. Despair and desperation ruled too many of them. Now the time had come to rectify that error, and to take back the cities. If she had to don a mask once more, so be it.
She preferred the black, now she had thought of it. It made her look less like a ghost.
There should have been someone beside her, in a dappled suit, her smile faint but knowing.
Lottie had been dead for more than ten millennia. She didn’t often forget that now.
Her current Ocelot was on her way from Sirius, ready to join her now the venture had begun. Tonight should not have been the first night but if she waited a child would die. All was ready. She would hesitate no longer.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had swung the streets alone.
The second car rattled past.
Tiger closed her eyes. With the din of the shaking rails in her ears, she could pretend someone else stood beside her, breathing inaudible in the noise. She could imagine a pale sweep of hair, and wary, grey eyes, and shoulders sloping forward, eager to cast out the rope.
The air grew silent, and she opened her eyes.
She was alone.
She checked her belt again, making sure everything was secure. Then she pressed her fingertips against her wristbands, checking the generators. She clenched her fist, and saw the spot of light appear on the wall opposite. Her arm was tugged that way, and she smiled and pulled back, opening her hand.
There was a knock on the door.
She tensed, and then relaxed as she felt a familiar brush against her mind. She pressed back into the shadows, and commanded the door to unlock.’
Khadija came in, a duffel hoisted in both arms. Her dark hair was ruffled, but she looked cheerful. “Evening, boss.”
Tiger waited until the door closed behind her, and then said, “Ocelot.”
Khadija turned to stare at her, eyes widening. “Nice.”
“Cheers,” Tiger said, and stepped forward. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Hitched a lift on a freighter. Took me an age to find you.”
“Good.”
Khadija looked around, eyebrows raised. “I hope you’ve found me better digs than this.”
“This is just a temporary operational base. Once we’ve got the rest of the team in place, and recruited locally, we’ll be moving on.”
The third car hooted below them.
“Five minutes,” Tiger said, and felt her fingers twitch. It would feel good to swing the streets again.
“You want me to suit up? I’ve been practicing.”
“Hold base for me tonight,” Tiger said. She wanted to be alone, this first night. “I’ll need someone monitoring.”
“You got screens hidden under the bed?”
“You know me too well,” Tiger said, and tilted the bed up. A simple bolt secured it against the wall. Pinned to its base was a sheet of viewscreens and datastreams, flashing in the darkness.
Khadija whistled through her teeth. “I assume that folds up if we need to run?”
“Technology,” Tiger said, patting the mattress fondly. “Ain’t it great?”
The carriages rattled past as Khadija leant forward, linking to the audio feeds. Tiger stretched, lifting her arms above her head.
They weren’t the trams of Atlantis, but this new city needed her now. Through the thin material of the blind she could see the people in the brightly lit car, their faces tired. She wondered what they would think tomorrow, when the news broke that the League had come again.
“Anything to eat round here?”
“Chocolate biscuits in a bag in the san-unit. Hang them up again when you’ve finished – we’ve got mice.”
“Delightful.”
Tiger crossed the room, and watched the empty cab sway past. Then she released the blind, and drew the window up.
The stink of the city blew in, oil and rubbish and sewage. Tiger swung her foot up onto the windowsill, and looked down. Below her, the city core fell away towards the spaceward terminus, a well miles deep. The walls of the core were bright with lights. She could pick out shopping districts from here, amongst the dimmer speckles of residential areas.
“Snakepit City,” she said softly.
“Renowned galaxy-wide for its civic pride.”
“It’s not quite as bad as its reputation.”
“It couldn’t be any worse.”
“Should keep us busy, then.”
Khadija grinned at her from where she sat on the floor, legs crossed. “Sounds like fun.”
Tiger smiled, but turned back to the window. It was time to begin again.
Then she threw herself forward, out of the window, and into the city that waited, unknowingly, to be saved.
Words: 1502
Mini-Challenge Prompt: absent friends
Notes: Wow. I have no idea where this came from. I've been working on something similar for the last couple of days, and this suddenly grabbed me at lunch time. Until then, I thought the costumed League had ceased to exist in the 31st century. Looks like I was wrong.
Summary: Life's about to change in Snakepit City.
Terran Date 22.05.12501AD, Space Station 55-Pitcairn-12, orbiting 61 Cygni A
The mask felt heavy in her hands. She didn’t remember it being this solid.
The only light in the room came through the thin blind, from the red beacon lights in the city core. It stained the mask, making it seem brown, the stripes black.
She needed to change the colours. Grey and rust were for another city, another age.
It only took a thought. The grey darkened to match the steel walls outside, and the red became black, shadow-dark.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in, tightening her cheeks, and lifted the mask. She felt the edge nudge her brow, and smoothed it into place, adjusting it with unsteady hands. When it was in place, she stroked a fingertip across the brow, and felt it seal to her skin.
The ties hung loose, tapping her cheeks.
She gathered her hair into her hands, twisting it up, and holding it with one hand, pulling the ties back with another. She’d always insisted on the extra measure. She had argued, several times, for glue as well, but the practical problems had ruled it out.
When she twisted the ties around each other, they tightened, and then sealed into a knot, unbreakable until she chose to press it the right way, with her bare fingers.
She’d caught a few strands of hair in the ties. Practice would improve on that.
She opened her eyes, and let her hair fall. It settled against her back, held away from her face by the curve of the mask, and she shivered, as if it had brushed away centuries.
The costume was already wrapped around her. It felt lighter than it had done, and it was far, far stronger. The armour of yesteryear had become cloth, many times stronger. The boots were lighter too, though there were new gadgets sewn into their heels – generators to hold her against a wall, or lift her over an obstacle with the press of her toes.
She picked her gloves up from the narrow bed, and drew them on carefully. The palms were rough, to give her extra grip, but the fabric elsewhere was sheer, shimmering with thousands of tiny sensors and processors.
The room belonged to her, though not under the name she used here, or any other previous pseudonym. She had siphoned enough League funds through numbered and hex-coded accounts that only a genius could tell who drew upon the money.
She had also put in place plans to recruit any geniuses who emerged in this city.
It was a small room, even for a station-city, and it smelt of rat and roach and damp, all those things that weren’t supposed to have followed humanity into space. The constant racket of the grav shafts around the core made it cheap, and would have made it unbearable as a permanent residence.
It was perfect for an initial base.
She had lived in SS55-Pitcairn-12 for six years now, gradually setting this up, establishing a blameless life, and a network of contacts in the shadow-passages of the space station the residents called Snakepit City. On the other side of the city, above the starboard terminus, a young woman called Shera Blake lived. She was a graduate of Madelin Alberta University’s engineering program, and made a living as a freelance gravtech. Willingness to work during all of the station’s shifts kept her above the poverty line, and explained the strange hours she sometimes kept.
It had taken her years to get used to the completely new name.
The gloves were heavier than they had been. Mag generators in bands around the wrists produced long pulses that, like an invisible version of the ropes of old, let her swing between walls.
She had a rope on her belt, too, for paranoia’s sake. She’d watched too many of her people fall, the last time they’d played this hand.
A passenger car rattled up the outside of the wall, over her window. She pressed back against the wall, and counted the coaches passing. There were three due in the next few minutes, and then none for an hour.
Waiting, as the light flickered with the passing of the car, she saw her reflection in the peeling mirror opposite, flashing in and out of darkness.
While the League had patrolled the stars, and the halls of government, the Dark had, slowly and subtly, taken the station cities. Despair and desperation ruled too many of them. Now the time had come to rectify that error, and to take back the cities. If she had to don a mask once more, so be it.
She preferred the black, now she had thought of it. It made her look less like a ghost.
There should have been someone beside her, in a dappled suit, her smile faint but knowing.
Lottie had been dead for more than ten millennia. She didn’t often forget that now.
Her current Ocelot was on her way from Sirius, ready to join her now the venture had begun. Tonight should not have been the first night but if she waited a child would die. All was ready. She would hesitate no longer.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had swung the streets alone.
The second car rattled past.
Tiger closed her eyes. With the din of the shaking rails in her ears, she could pretend someone else stood beside her, breathing inaudible in the noise. She could imagine a pale sweep of hair, and wary, grey eyes, and shoulders sloping forward, eager to cast out the rope.
The air grew silent, and she opened her eyes.
She was alone.
She checked her belt again, making sure everything was secure. Then she pressed her fingertips against her wristbands, checking the generators. She clenched her fist, and saw the spot of light appear on the wall opposite. Her arm was tugged that way, and she smiled and pulled back, opening her hand.
There was a knock on the door.
She tensed, and then relaxed as she felt a familiar brush against her mind. She pressed back into the shadows, and commanded the door to unlock.’
Khadija came in, a duffel hoisted in both arms. Her dark hair was ruffled, but she looked cheerful. “Evening, boss.”
Tiger waited until the door closed behind her, and then said, “Ocelot.”
Khadija turned to stare at her, eyes widening. “Nice.”
“Cheers,” Tiger said, and stepped forward. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Hitched a lift on a freighter. Took me an age to find you.”
“Good.”
Khadija looked around, eyebrows raised. “I hope you’ve found me better digs than this.”
“This is just a temporary operational base. Once we’ve got the rest of the team in place, and recruited locally, we’ll be moving on.”
The third car hooted below them.
“Five minutes,” Tiger said, and felt her fingers twitch. It would feel good to swing the streets again.
“You want me to suit up? I’ve been practicing.”
“Hold base for me tonight,” Tiger said. She wanted to be alone, this first night. “I’ll need someone monitoring.”
“You got screens hidden under the bed?”
“You know me too well,” Tiger said, and tilted the bed up. A simple bolt secured it against the wall. Pinned to its base was a sheet of viewscreens and datastreams, flashing in the darkness.
Khadija whistled through her teeth. “I assume that folds up if we need to run?”
“Technology,” Tiger said, patting the mattress fondly. “Ain’t it great?”
The carriages rattled past as Khadija leant forward, linking to the audio feeds. Tiger stretched, lifting her arms above her head.
They weren’t the trams of Atlantis, but this new city needed her now. Through the thin material of the blind she could see the people in the brightly lit car, their faces tired. She wondered what they would think tomorrow, when the news broke that the League had come again.
“Anything to eat round here?”
“Chocolate biscuits in a bag in the san-unit. Hang them up again when you’ve finished – we’ve got mice.”
“Delightful.”
Tiger crossed the room, and watched the empty cab sway past. Then she released the blind, and drew the window up.
The stink of the city blew in, oil and rubbish and sewage. Tiger swung her foot up onto the windowsill, and looked down. Below her, the city core fell away towards the spaceward terminus, a well miles deep. The walls of the core were bright with lights. She could pick out shopping districts from here, amongst the dimmer speckles of residential areas.
“Snakepit City,” she said softly.
“Renowned galaxy-wide for its civic pride.”
“It’s not quite as bad as its reputation.”
“It couldn’t be any worse.”
“Should keep us busy, then.”
Khadija grinned at her from where she sat on the floor, legs crossed. “Sounds like fun.”
Tiger smiled, but turned back to the window. It was time to begin again.
Then she threw herself forward, out of the window, and into the city that waited, unknowingly, to be saved.
